Keeper of the Creed
by shuffle-panda
Summary: When an unknown assassin appears, what happens when she meets the brotherhood's top assassin and is an assumed enemy?
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the assassin's creed characters, only my own fictional characters and this story._

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There was not a day when she didn't hear of his countless murders and successful assassinations, his name on the lips of every citizen of the city.

"Assassin." She would often hear the guards hiss, when having private conversations with one another. It was surprising, how fast word spread of his doings around the kingdom, or at least how she viewed it. Whenever she would pass by a few of the women carrying their jars, she would hear their conversations, oblivious to the fact that she would eavesdrop.

"It's a ghost! There's no other explanation for how one man could get away with so much."

"I heard that he's incredibly handsome."

And of course after remarks like that were made, she stopped, wanting to listen to no more of their little imaginations, how he could be their knight in shining armor, when he was a cold-blooded killer.

No. Saying that would be unethical.

He was _a ghost_ to the guards. A _blade_ amongst the crowd. A _killer_ amongst the innocent.

An _angel_ of death. How ironic, the fact that he had the face of an angel, yet his fate was to end the lives of others.

"Move along you wretch." A passing guard pushed her harshly in the shoulder.

Curious. How amazing it was to her at the thoughts she bore of this unknown man, when she herself was a trained killer.

Her father, a has been, member of the brotherhood, to old and weak to carry out his missions, had passed down his knowledge and skill to her. His only child. A woman. Would it not be a sin if they found out? But what did the brotherhood know of a female assassin that was not under their command.

She focused her attention on a white feather, that seemed to fall out of the sky. As it came lower towards the market place, she noticed something unusual about this particular feather. It was a white feather, blood staining the tips of it and spreading like fire through the middle.

_Truly_, he was a master of his art.

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A/N: _Hi! This is my first time writing a fanfiction about this kind of stuff, especially to do with assassin's creed. Sorry that it isn't extremely long, but this is just a prologue. I hope it wasn't that bad. please R&R!  
_


	2. Chapter 1

_A/N: I apologize before hand for any grammar and spelling mistakes._

The girl sighed as she walked into the run-down building, keeping a watchful eye on her surroundings. Hopping over the broken wooden shafts from the rooftop, she quickly slipped into the backroom, making no noise.

"Has the target been eliminated?" She turned, smiling at the familiar gruff voice.

"Yes father." The girl held up the bloodied feather, bowing her head.

Her father smiled at her, "A wonderful job Nisrin, I'm quite pleased with your progress lately."

Nisrin paused warily glancing around, and proceeded in a hushed voice, "I appreciate all of the training father, but what if the brotherhood finds out that you are passing your missions to me?"

Her fears never went unnoticed, for her father was quite aware of how harsh Al Muelim would be if he found out. He cringed, and his brow creased in thought. Nisrin buried herself within her own thoughts as she waited for her father's reply. Impulsively, she raised her left hand, bringing it to her face as she glanced down at the small stump that was her ring finger.

Nisrin tensed, hearing the light pad of footsteps that would have been undetectable to any regular person. Frantically looking up at her father, she rushed out the door, disappearing into the crowded streets.

Once far enough away from the designated meeting place with her father, Nisrin clambered on top of one of the near by buildings, viewing the rooftops.

"If you wish to live, stay where you are." She felt the cool metal of his blade press against her neck.

"If you kill me, take the life of my father before Al Muelim finds out. Tell them he was slaughtered by a templar." She gasped, praying to God that the man behind her would seriously reconsider.

"How is it that you know of the brotherhood? I'm assuming you know of the Creed as well."

She felt blood trickle down her neck as he applied more pressure, searching for her voice. "My father is too weak to continue his missions, so when he is given one, I pretend to act as him, killing his targets." Nisrin whispered, afraid of what would become of her.

She had heard of this assassin standing behind her. His greatness known by all of them, yet he was shunned by quite a few for his ignorance. There was only one thing she truly feared at the moment though, and that was that every interrogation he did was ended by taking the life of the person that he sought information from.

"How do I know that you're not lying?" She could feel his breath by her ear.

She chuckled dryly, "Were you not eavesdropping on the conversation between my father and I?"

Nisrin smiled faintly, as she sensed that her question had caught him off guard.

"No," he admitted, disturbed by the fact that he was unable to tell whether this strange woman could really be trustworthy, "I came when you ran off."

Nisrin closed her eyes, her parched throat burning as she breathed in the dry air.

"What is your name, girl?" The man demanded, he moved his blade half an inch away from her neck, but still ready.

"Nisrin…" she paused, "Nisrin, daughter of Imad Al Din of the Hashshashin." She turned slightly, seeing the face of her father's fellow assassin.

"You are Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad are you not?" She watched as he grimaced, and she let her anger get the best of her. "Should I be honoured or disgraced. Such a high ranking assassin, but one that could care less for the creed." She mused.

He raised his hand. "That is enough. I could easily kill you now, seeing as how that wouldn't break any creed rules." He stated triumphantly. A fresh wave of fear washed through Nisrin.

It was true. She wasn't an innocent citizen, nor would this be compromising the brotherhood. "If it weren't for the fact that I should turn you in to Al Muelim to see what he decides, you would be dead by now." He hissed.

Fully removing his blade from her throat, he pushed her in front of him so he could keep a watchful eye on her. He paused before starting to run towards the exit of Jerusalem.

"Let this be a warning, Nisrin."

With that being said, he jumped off of the rooftop, sending a baleful glare in her direction. Cautiously; she followed his lead and they began their walk. Taking caution, Nirsin lowered her head instinctively, making sure that the guards didn't recognize her face and with the sun setting, it only added to their advantage.

"Where might you be goin' that would cause you to leave during the night?" Nisrin didn't look up, knowing that a guard near the entrance had stopped them.

"My wife and I received a letter saying that her father is dying, we're headed to Acre to see him before he passes." Authority rang out in his voice as he spoke his lie. Nisrin was surprised at how convincing it actually seemed.

Altaïr gave her a light nudge telling her to walk forwards and slowly, they exited the city. Upon finally being outside of Jerusalem, Altaïr let out a low but sharp whistle.

"What'd you do that for?" She growled, annoyed by his actions.

Not bothering to answer her question, his eyes peered through the darkness. It took a few minutes before his whistle was answered by a whinny, a black stallion walked towards them.

Altaïr smiled slightly, patting the horse on it's muzzle, whispering hushed words of affection to the animal. Upon closer inspection of the marvellous horse, Nisrin realized that the horses' fur had a patch of white fur on its' mane and around the hooves, but this was drowned out by the spectacular midnight colour of the rest of its' fur.

"What's its name?" Nisrin eyed the horse.

"**His** name is Amin." He responded, stressing the fact that Amin wasn't just an 'it' as Nisrin had called him. She sneered at him, before he easily lifted her onto Amin, as if she were just a child, getting on behind her. "If you don't want to fall off, I suggest you hold on." He stated bluntly, before forcing Amin into a gallop.

Nisrin's eyes would droop occasionally, as she tried to fend off the need to sleep, yawning often.

"If you want to sleep then just do so." Nisrin could hear the annoyance in his voice.

She scoffed, "sleep in the company of a stranger. Good idea, next I should give myself to the templars and tell them, 'hey did you know I'm an assassin?'"

Altaïr rolled his eyes at how quick she was to judge. "Please, you think I'd do something as dishonourable as _that_?"

"No, but how can I put my life into the hands of a stranger. One that won't hesitate to kill me for that matter." She sighed, weighing the chances of her living after she arrives at Maysaf.

Not good.

Setting aside her anxiety over the matter, Nisrin finally slipped into a deep sleep, leaving Altaïr to his thoughts.

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_A/N OMG!! I was surprised that I got as many reviews as I did. Thank you everybody!! I did try and make it longer for you guys, and I hope you're satisfied with the length. I would be even longer (like... another 2 pages) but my brothers want on the computer . I'm glad you guys all liked it. Digital Coma, I'm really sorry, I didn't know that my story sound that much like yours. I apologize and hope that they are really different in the story line :P_


	3. Chapter 2

Upon seeing her breathing slow, Altaïr observed her more closely. Her robes were tattered and blood stained; but identical to his, even her armor and red sash were the same. No doubt that these were her father's old robes.

Shifting his weight ever so slightly, he leaned over her shoulder and peered down at her left hand, curious to see if her ring finger was about as existent as his, which would ensure that she would also be equipped with a hidden blade.

Her eyes fluttered open, catching him red-handed. "It's rude to stare isn't it?"

He scoffed, leaning back. "There's a difference between inspecting and staring."

Nisrin smiled faintly. "But there isn't between ignorance and stupidity."

"Women!" he muttered exasperated.

Nisrin ignored his comment, gazing out at the endless abyss of sand dunes stretched out across the land, letting her thoughts wander.

It all seemed so wrong; wanting what she did and being what she was. To ride to Masyaf and see the city of her fathers' birth, the city that was his greatest joy; hearing all too many tales of its' beauty told to her in stories he would weave. She would often find him perched on the tower near their home in Jerusalem, able to tell by the gleam in his eyes where his thoughts were; that somewhere in his mind, he was reliving the days when he was on the top of his game.

To her, it was the picture of pure serenity.

Her thoughts returned to Masyaf.

_The city of the Assassins._

She would be shunned by the others, a bizarre picture she would paint for herself being the only female assassin. Surely this would be unacceptable, a woman trained in such arts. Women were supposed to be fragile, uneducated, and helpless. Not the opposite. She heaved a long-suffered sigh, passively aware of Altaïr's scrutiny.

Frigid gusts of wind rolled over the land, causing the sand to stir, grains of it flying upwards, nipping at their faces as Amin galloped freely.

Seeing an oasis not far from where they were, Altaïr gently pulled back on the reins, urging Amin to a stop.

"We'll camp here for tonight." he spoke in a barely audible voice. Nisrin leapt off of the horse with noticeable grace, walking beside him as he led Amin towards the small pool of water. Without a word, he began removing all of his equipment from Amin, including his saddle, save for his reins, using them to tie him to a nearby tree.

"How much longer till we reach Masyaf?" Nisrin shifted her weight from foot to foot with impatience.

"Long enough." was his reply. He splashed water on his face, removing all of the caked on dirt and blood, grimacing. He sighed, approaching Nisrin with a rope in hand and noticed her eying it with curiosity. "Give me your hands."

Recognition washed through her, as she stared down at the rope, letting the words almost automatically slip out of her mouth. "I refuse."

She quickly avoided his gaze and backed up, realizing what she had said.

"I will use force, Nisrin." He said sternly.

She regained her posture, defiance sounding in her voice, "I refuse to be tied up like some dog and delivered to your damned master!" She gasped as he leapt forwards. Avoiding his frontal attack, she dodged to the side and began sprinting through the underbrush that decorated the area around the small water pools.

Moonlight glinted off the metal of his small throwing knives as he gingerly reached for two of them, expertly throwing them with deadly speed, knowing that he had hit his target. Pushing aside a few stray branches, he looked at the young woman with sympathy, her head facing down so that the shadow of her hood fully concealed her face, her raven coloured hair draped around her shoulders. He approached her cautiously, eying the one knives, lodged into her shoulder, and the other that pierced through the cloth near her left leg, both pinning her to one of the many palm trees.

"Does it not disgust you," Nisrin paused, glaring at him, "to know that once we reach Masyaf, that I'll probably be killed?"

He watched as he noticed her sharp intakes of breath. "That the one to kill me will be your master?"

"As you sit by idly, and watch him take my life? Is this the greatness that the assassins of Masyaf hide behind?" She spat.

Altaïr pulled back his hood, cautioning her with the sound of his footsteps. She looked up at him, stifling a gasp.

It was as exactly as the women back in Jerusalem would chat about. It was like staring down an angel. He had short black hair, slightly ruffled by his hood, a strong jaw-line and fine lips, a scar that adorned his features and eyes that seemed to see straight into her soul.

Ignoring her queries, he bent down, removing the throwing knife that was dangerously close to her leg, placing it back in its' original place.

"If I enjoyed this I wouldn't really consider myself human." He mumbled, staring at the blood that was staining the white fabric and spreading at an alarming rate.

"I'll be back in a moment. Try not to move to much." He breathed out a sigh of agitation before disappearing, leaving Nisrin alone as the night continued to get even colder.

Minutes later, he returned carrying an armful of bandages, a small vial filled with a clear liquid, and a damp cloth. Pulling out the second throwing knife, he rolled up her sleeve, exposing the stab wound that the knife caused.

"I'm curious... how did you do it?" he spoke, cleaning the wound with the strange liquid. A burning sensation ran up her arm.

"What?"

Altaïr stopping rubbing the cloth over her wound and gazed up at her. "I meant how did you become an assassin? I'm sure your father probably opposed to idea at first."

Nisrin nodded, recalling the day she asked him if he could train her. "He harbored hatred towards me at first for even thinking of 'staining my soul'."

Altaïr gave her a lopsided grin. "He certainly had an interesting way of wording it, but it's true, we stain our souls with the blood of others. Even if our target is presumed to be evil." He murmured the last part, seeming to be caught in a daze. He finished bandaging her arm and tugged on her sleeve lightly, causing it to fall back down.

Finally arriving at the makeshift camp, Nisrin glanced up at the night sky and then back to Altaïr, who was caught up with his own thoughts, sensing that he was no longer as in tine with his environment.

"I'm sorry Altaïr." Her voice was sincere and filled with regret, as she fluidly unsheathed her sword.

Altaïr looked up to meet her gaze for only a fraction of a second before the hilt of her sword connected with his head, sending him to the ground, unconscious.

She quickly saddled Amin, leaving all of the equipment that had belonged to his master was now resting safely on the ground.

"It was an honor to meet you, and I'm sure if we had met of different circumstances, we could have been," she toyed with the word before speaking it aloud, "friends." She mused, regret marred her words.

"Safety and peace be upon you... Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad." she whispered, sparing him one last glance before giving Amin a sharp kick in the thigh, sending him into a fierce gallop.

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_A/N: Sorry for how craptastic the last "chapter" was. I know it really was bad compared to how much more carefully I had the prologue written. I did edit the document for it, but unfortunately, all of the editing that was done to it doesn't appear on the story itself. (The already posted part.) I hope this one is a lot, and I mean **a lot** better, I tried to edit it.  
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**_Digitalcoma _**_Comparing our stories when we're done will be pretty interesting wont it?_


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